


Penalties

by thisiszircon



Series: The Moment of Awakening [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiszircon/pseuds/thisiszircon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace goes to Wembley and makes some friends.  The Doctor finds this worthy of comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penalties

**Author's Note:**

> With grateful thanks to my invaluable beta-reader and editor, [Nemo the Everbeing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemo_the_Everbeing).

_Wembley Stadium, North London_

_25th May 1998_

 

"But do they win?" Ace demanded.

"Why don't you watch the game and find out?" the Doctor said.

Ace looked down at the ticket he had procured for her.  There were touts under the bridge at the end of Wembley Way who were offering these tickets for hundreds of pounds.  "Look, I don't want to spend ninety minutes of my life watching a football game that my team loses!"

"Ah.  A fair-weather fan, eh?"

"It's not that!"  Ace grimaced, wondering how she could possibly make a Time Lord from Gallifrey understand how important it was that her unfashionable little team from south London gained promotion to the football league's top division.  "This isn't just any game."

"I rather thought that was the point," the Doctor replied.  "The TARDIS picked the game.  Apparently it'll go down in history as a good one."

"But do we _win_?"

"I'm not telling you."  He looked smug and pompous, all at the same time.  "If you know the result beforehand it takes away all the excitement."

Ace glared at the Doctor.  "You're lecturing me about spoiling the surprise?  You?  Mr 'I'm going to write notes to myself from the future'?"

The pomposity segued into irritation.  "Yes, yes, do as I say, not as I do.  Still not telling you."

"Don't you get it?  This game-"

"Is starting in fifteen minutes.  Wembley is over there."  The Doctor pointed with his umbrella down Wembley Way, where the crowds were already thinning out.

Ace sighed and looked again at her ticket.  "If we lose, I'm going to punch you on the nose."

"No you're not."

"I'm going to want to."

"But you'll refrain.  Win or lose, play the game, lay the blame..."  The Doctor looked momentarily perplexed.  "Yes.  One of those is important.  Ah!  And you shouldn't blame the messenger.  And punching your best friend is not cricket."

"Mixing metaphors."

"Speciality of mine.  Go and watch your team.  I'll meet you here afterwards."

"Why aren't you coming?"

"Because I couldn't be less interested in watching two teams of eleven humans kick a spherical object around a patch of grass.  Pointless."

"Blasphemer.  I need money."

The Doctor dug in his pockets and produced the money-pouch he carried, containing its usual mixture of currency, domestic, foreign and indisputably alien.  He fished out a twenty pound note that Ace was certain had been placed there ready for this moment, and he handed it to her.  "If you're going to drink the beer, at least eat something," he said.

Ace rolled her eyes and countered with, "If you're going to uncover an alien invasion in the suburbs, at least wait until I've got your back."

The Doctor grinned.  "Promise."

"Promise," Ace agreed.

He nudged her nose and winked, then Ace turned and began walking briskly along Wembley Way, in the direction of the famous towers of the capital's stadium.

~~~

"Penalties," she yelled at the sky.  "Crying out loud, penalties!"

Nobody noticed.  The noise in Wembley Stadium would have drowned out a jet-engine.  Everyone should have been exhausted after ninety minutes of play and then half an hour of extra time, not to mention the eight goals that had left this all-or-nothing football match drawn four-apiece.  But it seemed they still had energy enough to yell.

"I hate penalties," she said, in a more conversational tone that was immediately lost in the maelstrom of noise.  Her throat was sore from all the shouting.  Ace coughed.

There was a nudge at her arm.  She turned to see the guy next to her offering her a can of Stella.  She wondered how he'd managed to smuggle his four-pack in through Wembley's security, but she wasn't going to turn down free good-quality beer when the alternative was a trip to the lengthy queue at the refreshments hatch and an overpriced plastic cup containing the weak piss that Wembley's current sponsorship partner was purveying.

"Cheers!" she yelled.  Or croaked.  He didn't hear, but nodded at the obvious sentiment.  One good turn deserved another, she supposed.  She'd taken the six year old girl who was attending the match with him - "Molly," the girl had solemnly declared when Ace had asked her name - to the loos at half time when the kid had quite rightly kicked up a fuss about her uncle having to take her to the "smelly boys toilets."

Ace cracked the can and took a slurp, and her throat said thank you very much.  The players on the pitch were coming out of their pre-penalty huddles, and the two managers, still clutching their improvised lists of penalty takers, were trying not to look like they were on the verge of a heart attack.

Movement beside her.  Molly had swapped places with her uncle, the bearer of good beer, apparently in order to claim some security between him and the nice lady who'd taken her to the loo.  Ace found her arm clutched by a small hand.  She told herself she wasn't charmed, had never been a kid-person, but there was a part of her that kind of liked the fact that she now had the excuse to hold on to someone.

On the pitch, the players set themselves up.  Charlton were to shoot first.  She felt another nudge and saw that Molly's uncle had wrapped an arm around his niece.  The kid looked near to tears with the fear and the excitement.  Ace threw caution to the wind, swapped her can of Stella over to her left hand and joined Molly's uncle in placing a protective arm around the kid.  He looked at her as their arms touched, and grinned ruefully.

"Never gets any easier," he shouted, making Ace realise that the noise in the stadium had reduced significantly in the last thirty seconds.

"Tell me about it," she shouted back.

And it began.

Charlton scored.  Relief.

Sunderland scored.  Despair.

Times the above by five.

The standard set of five penalties apiece had been taken, and there was still nothing to separate the two sides.  Ace felt like howling at the sky.  She couldn't cope with this kind of stress.  Sometimes it was hard to remember why she invested so much in her beloved football team.

Molly shouted, "Do they go back to the start, Uncle Pete?"

Uncle Pete said, "No.  Sudden death now, sweet pea."

Molly looked alarmed.  Ace considered that 'sudden death' was a gruesome way of putting it.  Now the teams had to move on from best of five to one against one.  Of course, both teams had already used up their most confident penalty-takers.

Ace swilled the last of her beer down, astonished to find that she'd polished the entire can off in the space of the last ten minutes.

Charlton stepped up.  Robinson, midfielder.  Wembley quietened.

He shoots, he scores.  The Charlton fans went even wilder than they had for the preceding five penalties, because they'd reached the point when one slip would cost them the match and their promotion.

Sunderland sent up Niall Quinn, the tall Irishman.  He buried his penalty with aplomb.  The Sunderland fans on the other side of the ground went similarly wild.

Around her were grumbles and despairings and the kind of language she would have preferred Molly's young ears to have missed.  She felt her hand being crushed by the fierce grip of a six year old.  She hugged Molly closer, and Uncle Pete did the same, and Ace saw that she was almost shoulder to shoulder with this virtual stranger.  Pete noted the same, and they shared a smile, part embarrassed, part slightly-interested.

Charlton's turn again.  Shaun Newton.  Right-sided midfielder.  Ace felt a flutter of nerves as she read the body language of the player, but she needn't have worried.  He put his penalty away and ran back to his team-mates to receive their congratulations.  Molly was cheering, "Yay, yay, yay!" in a little-girl manner that was borderline adorable.

Sunderland sent up Michael Gray.  He placed the ball, paced out his run-up.  Ace was getting to think that they'd be here all night.

"Uncle Pete, what happens when there's no players left?" Molly asked.

Pete caught Ace's eye and grinned, then he said, "Well, it's our turn then, sweet pea.  I mean, the manager first, obviously.  But then it goes to the fans."  Molly was looking stricken.  "Don't worry.  They'll probably start at the front row.  We've got ages, yet."  He paused, then added with extreme mischief, "Unless they do it by age.  Youngest first.  Hey - you might get a go, Molly!"

Molly turned her head to look at Ace, all big eyes and tremulous lower lip.  Ace grinned.  "I don't think it'll come to that," she confided.

Gray ran up to the ball and kicked.  It was on target, but it was weak.  Ilic, Charlton's goalkeeper, picked the correct side of his goal to cover...

...and dived...

...and saved the penalty.

Ace leapt off her seat.  So did several thousand other Charlton supporters.  The noise was deafening.  People were punching the air.  On the pitch, Ilic had disappeared under a heap of jubilant Charlton players.  On the big screen, Sunderland's Michael Gray looked distraught.

It was over.  Charlton Athletic were going to the Premier League, and they'd made it by the skin of their teeth.

Ace turned to her new friends.  Molly had clambered on the seat and was now being lifted on to her uncle's shoulders so she could see what was happening.  Pete, hoarse with the screaming he couldn't contain, half-laughed as he caught her eye.  He offered an arm and Ace hugged him.  It was one of those contexts where hugging an almost-stranger was not only safe, it was The Done Thing.

And on a bank-holiday afternoon in May, Ace settled in with several thousand fellow Charlton supporters to watch her team receive the 1998 play-off final trophy.

~~~

Quite a bit later, when the trophy had been presented and the celebrations had died off and people were finally beginning to leave the stadium, Pete turned to Ace and said, "So - where you headed now?"

Ace shrugged.  "Meeting a friend near the tube."

Pete nodded.  "Boyfriend."  He was trying to sound casual.

She shook her head.  "Just a friend."

Pete perked up.  "So - we're off to Euston.  Train doesn't leave until half eight-ish, though, so we were going to grab a bite first."  He took his courage in his hands and said, "Want to join us?"

Ace frowned.  "You don't live in London?"

"No.  Northampton."

"Cobblers."

"No, it's true."

Ace grinned.  "I mean, Northampton Town.  The football team.  The Cobblers, that's what they're called, isn't it?"

"Oh!"  Pete blushed.  "Sorry.  Not that quick off the mark at the moment."

"Yeah, I'm knackered too."  She grinned.  "Let me see how my friend's fixed.  Maybe we'll tag along."

Pete looked relieved.  "Good thing."  They shuffled down the concrete steps, following the crowd.  "It's going to take me a bit longer before I'm feeling brave enough to ask for your phone number."

~~~

The Doctor was waiting for her under the bridge, and he wore a self-satisfied smirk which said, 'Told you it'd be fun.'

"Turns out we won," Ace said, trying not to revisit her sense of jubilation and throw herself into his arms.  She played it cool.

"Did you indeed?"  He didn't even try to look surprised.

"Yeah.  It was ace."

He nodded, and gestured with his head.  "Who're your friends?"

Ace turned to see Pete, with his niece hanging on to his hand, waiting to be introduced.  Ace indicated the little girl.  "This is Molly.  My big-match buddy.  She took me to the loos at half time 'cause I didn't want to go on my own."

Molly giggled at this, and then at the way the Doctor took off his hat, rolled it down his arm and bowed to her.

"And this is Pete, Molly's favourite uncle."

"Only uncle!" Molly said.

"And therefore favourite."

Pete offered a hand.  "Um, hi.  Nice to meet you, er..."

"This is my friend, the Doctor," Ace said.

Pete smiled and shook the Doctor's hand.  "You guys have quite the nickname thing going on, eh?"

Before Pete got confused, Ace jumped in and said, "So are we busy?" to the Doctor.  "Only Pete and Molly have to get their train from Euston a bit after eight, and we were thinking about grabbing some dinner first."

The Doctor looked at Ace, then at Pete and his niece.  Ace felt oddly nervous.

"I know just the place," the Doctor said.  "Who's in the mood for Mexican?"

~~~

 

_Jorge's Cantina, Bloomsbury_

 

After their main courses, Pete took Molly over to where a smiling waiter offered all the delights of a sweet trolley.  This was the first time Ace had been alone with the Doctor since before the match.

"Thanks for the ticket," she told him, and sipped her _Pacifico_.

"You're welcome.  You deserved a good afternoon out."  The Doctor glanced over to their two dining companions as the merits of chocolate fudge cake, ice cream and _churros_ were discussed.  "Pete seems like a nice young man."

Ace blinked, then she shrugged.  "Yeah.  Nice enough."

"Seems to like you."

There was a pause.  Ace felt an odd sense of newness in the mood enveloping the two of them.  "You don't usually do this," she said.

"Do what?"

"Comment."

"On your friends?"

"On the blokes who like me.  Or who I like."

"Sorry - it's none of my business."  He looked away and focused on his glass of water.

Ace rolled her eyes.  "Oh, no.  You don't get to do that.  Not when you've already commented."

"Ace-"

"What's the issue?  There's no future in it.  He's on the train in less than an hour, so there isn't even a one-nighter in it.  I can't give him a number because I don't have a number.  Not unless I give him the one at Allen Road, but what's the point?  We pop in there at random and maybe pick up some messages, but I'm hardly going to ask you to drop me back in Northampton, 1998, at the such and such on thingie street because Pete's invited me out for a drink, am I?"

"No?"

"No!"

Ace realised she'd spoken too loudly when the nearby diners paused their conversation and glanced over.  She lowered her voice and leaned towards the Doctor.

"Look - it's not an issue.  All right?"

"All right."

"Figured it all out a while ago."

"I see."

"I mean, if we were hanging around in 1998 for a while then maybe I'd think about it.  But we're not, are we?"

"If you want to-"

"No.  I don't.  Well, not that much, anyway."  Ace sighed.  "He's a nice bloke.  He's sweet to his niece and he's generous with his beer and he's got good taste in footie teams.  That's all I know about him.  Maybe in another life we'd have been mates.  Doubt it would have been more than that."

The Doctor nodded and kept his attention solidly fixed on the water glass he held.

"Why did you say something, anyway?" she asked.

"No reason."

"Because if I didn't know better, I'd wonder if you were hoping to palm me off on him."

"Palm you off?"

"You know.  You want rid of me.  This is a good excuse.  Makes you feel better if I've got someone else."

The Doctor looked at her, and his expression was startled.  "Oh.  Well I'm glad you know better."

"Yeah, me too."

There was an odd pause.

"Look, Ace, there's no - I just wanted to know your plans.  That's all."

"'Kay.  So now you know.  There aren't any."

He nodded again.  "You only ever have to say.  If..."  He tailed off.

"If?  If what?"

"Never mind."

"If I want you to bugger off and leave me to it?  Give me a couple of hours to get some nookie?"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I'm not sure.  It's obviously not important."

Pete came back to the table with Molly.  Molly announced that she was having "hot Mexican doughnuts because you can get ice cream anywhere."

Ace tried to smile and chat and let the evening finish on a pleasant note.  But she kept shooting the Doctor guarded looks, because when it came down to it, she wasn't quite sure what they'd discussed.  It felt like they'd both been trying to say something but hadn't quite managed it.

~~~

 

_Euston Railway Station_

 

It was tricky, saying goodbye to a bloke you'd met when he was encumbered by a half-asleep six year old.  Ace smiled as Pete did his best to extend a hand in friendship without dropping his niece.

"Perhaps," the Doctor murmured, "I might be of assistance?"

He took the child from Pete and stepped away, just far enough to offer privacy.

"Nice meal," Pete said, even more awkward with his arms now he didn't quite know what to do with them.

"The Doctor always knows the good places."

He nodded.  "Well."

"Well."

"Quite a day."

"Yep."

"You, er, go to the Valley?"  It took Ace a moment to remember that Pete was referring to the home stadium for Charlton Athletic.  "See the boys play?  Maybe I'll see you there some time?"

"Not often," Ace admitted.

Pete nodded again.  He had now been reduced to sticking his hands in his jeans pockets and shuffling his feet.  "It was really nice meeting you today, Ace," he finally managed.

"You too.  And thanks for the beer."

"Oh, you're welcome.  I-"

"I-"

The 'I's' clashed, and they both flushed up.  Pete gestured for her to speak.

"I can't give you my number," Ace said.

"I know."  He gave a regretful smile.  Ace was pretty sure he didn't know, not the half of it; time-travel and galaxy-hopping weren't the kind of thing you expected to hear when you met someone new and said, 'So, what are your hobbies then?'

"I would if I could," Ace told him.

"It's okay," Pete said.  He looked over at the Doctor, then back at Ace.  "Just a friend, eh?"

She nodded slowly.  "Just a friend."  Why would anyone think otherwise?

"More fool him."  Pete sniffed and threw his shoulders back.  "I'll never watch penalties again without thinking of you."

"Funny, that they're called penalties," Ace said.  "Like they're punishment or something."

"Punishment for us.  We have to watch the bloody things."

"Yeah."  She managed a smile.  "Safe trip home, then.  See you in another life, yeah?"

"See you then."  Pete managed to offer the awkward embrace he clearly wanted, and Ace hugged him.  Then she waved goodbye to Molly, who stirred sleepily as she was handed back to her uncle, and the two of them moved away.

The Doctor stepped up close.  "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Course."

"Good."  He nudged her shoulder and they turned to leave the station concourse together, heading for nearby Euston Square.

Ace drew in a deep breath.  She felt like she wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure what it was.  In the end, somewhere between her deepest firing synapses and the muscles that controlled her vocal chords and mouth, the spark of a barely-defined idea transformed itself into a more mundane collection of words.

"So now they've been promoted, do Charlton manage to stay up?" she asked.  It wasn't what she'd meant to say, but it was pertinent enough.

"For an entire season," the Doctor said.

Her heart sank.  "You mean, they go straight back down to the lower division next year."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Right now?  Yeah.  I want to know."

"Very well.  They are relegated again on the final day of their first season in the Premier League.  But - there's always a silver lining."

"Oh yeah?" she said dubiously.

"They come straight back up again."

"Nice one!"  Ace grinned.  "For how long?"

"Are you sure you want me to give you Charlton Athletic's future history right now?"  He tilted his head to one side as he looked at her.  "Aren't some things better discovered in the moment?"

Ace considered the expression on the Doctor's face.  He looked genuinely curious, like he wasn't sure what she might reply.

"What do you think?" she countered, using one of his favourite techniques and answering a question with a question.  "I mean, you should be the expert on this.  Do you sometimes wish you hadn't lined up all the info in advance?  Would _you_ like to be surprised sometimes?"

He frowned, more irritated than thoughtful.  "Ace-"

"I know.  I didn't answer the question, and you're annoyed because now it feels like there's information you don't have.  Which kind of answers _my_ question: you always want to know.  Even if it spoils the surprise.  You enjoy knowing stuff more than surprises."

"Perhaps," he conceded after a moment.

"Makes me wonder, though," she said.

There was a pause.  She waited until the Doctor finally said, "Makes you wonder what?"

"Well - I just asked you a question about a football team from south London during the late twentieth century."

"Yes.  And?"

"That's pretty specific stuff, yeah?  When you've got a universe of knowledge to pick from."

"Granted."

"And you could answer that question.  You had all the details.  Even though you said earlier that you don't care about the beautiful game."

"So?"

" _So_...you knew I'd ask how Charlton get on in the Premiership.  And you bothered your arse to line up all the info."

"I suppose I did."

"But you don't always provide answers for me."

"I don't?"

"Well, there's all those times you evade questions like a bloody politician on 'Question Time'.  For instance."

"Charming."

"Accurate.  Wasn't meant to be charming."

The Doctor cast his gaze to the sky, as if searching out patience.  "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Yeah - this is the point.  When you answered my question, just now, I think you did that for your benefit, not mine.  I guess being able to come across like Mr Know-it-all is important to you.  Is it an ego thing?"

The Doctor sighed hard, as the two of them stopped at the side of a busy London road and waited for the traffic lights to change.  "A day out at a football match.  A nice meal in a Mexican restaurant.  And now it seems I am on the psychiatrist's couch."

"Hey!  I only asked you what you tried to ask me.  Not my fault you're easy to deduce."

"For the record, I looked into how your football team gets on after today's success because I thought you'd want to know.  And I don't like surprises because I've experienced too many nasty ones.  Not because I am an egomaniac."

Ace arched a brow.  "Okay."

There was a pause.  Their gazes held.

"I probably am an egomaniac, though," the Doctor admitted after a moment.

Ace snorted into giggles.  The Doctor joined in.

"You know what?" she said.

"What?"

"I don't want to know.  What happens to Charlton.  Maybe some day I'll find out when I read the paper or pop down the Valley and catch a game.  Or maybe not.  I don't think it matters whether they do well or they don't.  Not until I can be a part of it."

"Ah."  The Doctor nodded thoughtfully.  "If a striker scores a goal and Ace is not there to cheer it, does it make a sound?"

"Right.  The world only exists when I am present.  That is exactly what I'm saying.  Except that's totally not what I meant."

"I know.  Actually you are making an interesting philosophical point.  I shall have to give it some thought."

"You can add it to my complexities list."

"Right you are."  The lights changed at the pedestrian crossing.  He offered Ace an arm.  "Home?"

"Home," she agreed.

They headed off into the London evening.

~~~~~~


End file.
